Dollybird (22 page)

CHAPTER 34

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I heard the scream
before I saw the house, the sound like a terrified animal. It stopped me quick and then I started to run, barely daring to breathe.

“No!” The word pierced the murky dawn and echoed. I couldn't run fast enough. It was like I was dreaming something terrible was happening and I just couldn't get there. Where was the dog? Pain in the ass since we got him. Where was he now? And then I almost ran over him a few hundred yards from the house, his throat slit, eyes bulging and teeth bared. It was obvious he had tried, for once, and now he was dead. I ran past, trying not to look, legs pumping harder.

Another scream. Moira? Casey? Oh God. Whoever was in there with them still had the knife that killed the dog. Closer now, the window only a few feet away, I began to hear voices.

“Please, no.” It was Moira.

“Another fucking word and I'll shove my fist down your throat.”

My stomach damn near vaulted up my insides. Gabe. I crept slowly to the window, keeping my head low.

“You're not human,” Moira said, trying to sound brave.

“You're a whore. And I told you to shut the hell up.”

If he saw me, who knew what he'd do? Slowly, I lifted my head until I could just peer over the windowsill. Casey sat on his bed, eyes big and scared. Gabe had Moira around the throat with one arm, the knife pointed at her chest with the other, while he pushed her toward the bed. They disappeared and I heard the loud creak of the bed's frame. Oh God. I was afraid he'd kill her if I just ran in. The tears were rolling down Casey's face, and he worked his thumb to keep from crying out.

“Don't do this,” Moira said, loud and harsh.

“He took everything that son of a bitch. My land. And now my woman. Dancin' with her all night, the prick.” Gabe was breathing hard. “She's mine. Her father promised her to me.”

There was a ripping sound and Casey whimpered.

“Roll over, I want you from behind. That's what a whore likes.”

Oh God, Oh God. There was a shriek of pain and Moira went flying past the window, blood all over her nightgown.

“I won't let you do it, you bastard,” Moira panted. “You can kill me, but I won't let you do that.” She tried to wrap the torn and bloody nightgown round herself.

He waved the knife in the air, grabbed Casey and threw him over his shoulder. Casey howled and I went crashing through the door. Moira was huddled by the crib, her face filled with fear, but something else too, something saying she'd win or die. Gabe threw Casey on the bed and spun around to face me. Slowly he raised the knife, pointed it at me and smiled. His eyes were fired with a kind of hate I'd never seen. Crazy eyes.

“Get out of my house.”

He lunged and I jumped out of the way. His shoulder caught mine and we both crashed into the table, the knife clattering to the floor. I pushed off the table and pain rocketed through my head as he punched my nose.

“Ha.” He was enjoying this, sick with loving to hurt people.

I threw myself at him again, swinging hard, and connected with his chin. His head shot back, teeth snapping together, stunned an instant. And then he was on me, spitting blood, his arm across my throat so I couldn't breathe, and I was thumping on him, thrashing my legs, trying to break his hold. I thought I might be done, but suddenly his arm went slack and he slumped, his bulk heavy on top of me. It took everything I had to roll him off. Moira stood above us, her bloody nightgown wide open and pale tits hanging out, Gabe's knife in her hand.

“It's over,” she said, looking at the pool of blood growing round Gabe, her voice weirdly calm. She dropped the knife onto the table and went to the crib, where Shannon was whimpering.

I stood real slow, picked Casey up from the bed and hugged him tight. He clung to my neck, his soft little hands pulling so hard it was like he wanted to become part of my body. Then he drew back and touched my nose where the blood was drying, and looked into my eyes.

“Daddy?”

“It's okay, Casey.”

His tears let go and he sobbed, me rocking him like he was a baby again, just holding him ‘cause I'd come so close to not bein' able to. He kept glancing at Gabe, who'd started moaning. I turned so Casey couldn't see him. I don't know how many minutes we stood rocking, but finally his breathing slowed, and when I looked down he was drifting off on my shoulder. I laid him on his bed and turned back to Moira. She was standing over Gabe, just looking down at him. She'd tied her nightgown to cover herself up, but I could see her shoulder was bleeding bad. Then she bent and put her fingers to his throat.

“He's still alive,” she said. “Get my bag.”

I couldn't believe she would want to save him. She took the bag from me, and I rolled him on his side, like she asked, seeing the hole the knife had made between his ribs. She said to bring water and towels, calm-like, as though she was in a trance. She pressed the towels tight against his wound, soaking up the blood, grunting through her own pain the whole time. When the leaking finally slowed, she cleaned round the wound while I ripped sheets into lengths, and then helped wind them tight round his body, holding everything together. When we were done she stood up and looked across the room. “A pillow,” she said. I brought it, wanting to tell her he didn't deserve any comforts as she put it under his head.

Finally she sat down, leaning into the chair, exhausted, her face gone white and slack. The door flew open. Silas stood there, framed for a second by sunlight, loped his long legs across the room, giving a glance first to Casey, then Shannon in her crib. He stepped over Gabe, looked at us both and then picked Moira up gentle, like she was a broken sparrow. She put her good arm around his neck, her head on his shoulder and went limp with fainting.

I brought Shannon to the wagon, laying her on the blankets beside Moira, and covered them both with another. Silas said he'd take Moira to the doctor in Ibsen and then back to his place. I could only nod, watching Moira drifting in and out of sleep, thinking how Silas didn't know the half of what had happened. Moira had fixed Gabe even though he'd hurt her, and would have done worse if I hadn't showed up. I didn't understand. But I knew one thing; she was a bigger person than me, better than any of us.

Gabe was moaning when I went back to the house. He hadn't moved, but I tied his hands to the table leg anyway, just in case. I filled a canteen with water, put some bread and cheese in a sack, picked up Casey and headed outside to tack up Nelly for the long ride into Moose Jaw to see the Mounted Police. To tell them what Gabe had done and where to find him, to finally make him pay, for everything. As I was about to leave, I went back to the house, walked over to Gabe, and pulled the pillow out from under his head.

CHAPTER 35

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MOIRA

Gabe had cut
deep into the muscle of my shoulder, and I needed help with the most basic of things. After taking me to Doctor Berkowski, Silas had brought me to his place and arranged for Mrs. Miller's help. She was wonderful, dressing the wound, cooking and cleaning, caring for Shannon when Silas wasn't home to do it. But mostly he was home, and for two weeks had nursed me in the large room at the top of the stairs.

Dr. Berkowski came for a follow-up visit, to put everyone's mind at rest, though I knew he'd taken great care with the sutures, the positioning and length of each stitch perfect. Even with the severity of the wound, the scar would be minimal. While the muscle was still weak, I was healing well. He paused an instant as he packed his things away.

“I have to say you did an excellent job treating that hoodlum, especially in light of your own injury,” he said. “More than he deserved from the sounds of it.”

“I did what needed to be done,” I said, trying not to blush.

“Hmmm.” It seemed he wanted to say more, but instead he looked me in the eye and formally shook my hand as he left.

I remembered the smell of that early morning two weeks earlier, my loathing and fear making me a madwoman. But while standing over Gabe's wounded body, I'd thought of my father, his patients, the lowly patients he treated without question, his firm belief in a doctor's obligation to preserve life. All life. And I thought of the oath I'd memorized as a young girl, especially the part that said, “To hold him who has taught me this art as equal to my parent.” I had to treat Gabe. Not out of any sympathy, or heroism. But because I was my father's daughter. I was a doctor.

With Berkowski's blessing, I decided it was time to move back to the sod hut. Silas was hurt, but I was beginning to feel trapped by his good intentions. The next day Dillan came to get me, and I met him at the wagon. He held his hat in his hands, his shoulders stooped a little, a question in his eye. I hoped he was glad I was going home with him, at least for the time being. As we rode, a cool breeze swirled skiffs of snow on the ground, arched the dead grasses above it, waving like flags of truce surrendering to winter.

“It's beautiful.” My throat clicked. “Every season.”

He looked at me suddenly. “You could have stayed with Silas, you know.”

“Would you have liked me to?” It was petty.

“Well it's hard for him, living alone in that great big place.” He was watching for my reaction. “Must get lonely.”

“What are you suggesting I do?”

“I'm not suggesting anything.” He shook his head.

We'd arrived home and stopped in front of the house. Dillan helped me down, careful of my arm. Casey ran ahead as we trooped inside. I lay Shannon in her crib and turned to Dillan, grabbing his arm.

“What's really going on here?” I asked.

“Jesus, Moira. I don't know what to do. Carla.” He blushed. “I like her, you know. But Casey is very fond of you. I am too,” he quickly added. “It's just so hard. So complicated.”

“It's okay.” I couldn't help but smile at his distress. “I've been wondering how I'll fit into the arrangement if you and Carla get together. Obviously I won't. Can you imagine two women around this place?” I shot Casey my best mock-horror look and tickled his neck. “But don't worry. I've decided to go home. As soon as possible.” The shock in Dillan's face made me laugh. “You go ahead and do whatever you need to do without your infernal guilty conscience haunting you.”

“To St. John's? But your mother, Shannon.” His hands flew into the air.

“I don't have a future here.” I bent to hug Casey, who tugged at my skirts. Tears sprang to my eyes. “You little rascal. I will miss you.”

“Miss Moira too,” he said seriously, and gave me a long look before running to see why Shannon was fussing. “She hungry,” he announced.

“Yes, I believe she is.”

Dillan brought her to me, his face clouded with questions I didn't have the energy to answer. I sat down in the rocking chair to let her nurse, running my fingers over its carefully carved wood, imagining Dillan's large hands gently moulding the lathes into perfect arches. He stood by the sink, helping Casey to wash his hands.

“I'll have to leave my chair when I go,” I said as the realization hit me.

He glanced up sharply, sighed. “I suppose.”

“I want to take it. It's so lovely. But, the train you know.” I felt pregnant again, my huge body wading through very deep water, pushing against the current.
“It would be very expensive to have it shipped.”

“I suppose,” he repeated. He was quiet for a moment. “But Moira, what about all of this?” He spread his hands to encompass our small world. “What about Silas?”

I didn't answer, instead climbed into the bed he'd put in front of the west window so that, when the weather was fine, I could push the canvas sack aside and watch the sunsets as I recovered.

i i i

In the days that followed, a lump would rise in my throat every time I looked at Casey or thought about the dying garden I'd cleaned up and readied for someone else to plant in the spring. I'd always begrudged Nelly and the pigs the time I spent feeding them. They'd only been a nuisance. Now I wished I could help with the chores, linger out in the corral and listen to the birds, smell the farm smells. And Dillan had spoken as though I might stay for Silas. I was fond of Silas; he'd been so kind. But did they all think his kindness was enough? Damn Dillan and his questions.

“Hello in the house,” Silas's voice carried through crisp fall air, and I pushed myself up on my good arm, wincing at the pain.

“Hello.” It was a woman's voice, small and tentative.

Dillan answered from somewhere outside. “Nice to meet you too. Moira is just inside. Here, let me help you across that.”

I could see over the window ledge to make out an improbable hat, a city hat, not one of the prairie bonnets farm women wore. Its wide brim shielded the face of its wearer, and as I watched, the woman picked her way across the yard in polished boots. She glanced up again and I gasped. Aileen. My heart began to thump, so loud I was sure they would hear it. I got up and took deep breaths to steady myself and stop the fluttering in my stomach.

“Moira,” Silas called as he entered. “I've brought someone.”

“Aileen.” My voice squeaked past the lump in my throat.

“Moira,” she cried, and rushed into my outstretched arms, careful to avoid my battered shoulder.

We hugged for a long time, laughing through a few happy tears, hugging again.

“But how...?”

“Dillan found the address in your things,” Silas interjected. “I thought it best your family knew you'd had an accident. Aileen has come to see how you are.”

“And are you all right then?” she asked, standing back a little as though to survey.

“Yes, yes, I'm doing fine. It's just such a shock to see you so unexpectedly.” I gave Silas a raised eyebrow.

“I'll go unhitch and water the horses,” he said.

“I'll help.” Dillan had been standing aside, watching our reunion.

Aileen glanced between Silas and Dillan and then at me, confused. The two men donned their hats and left. I hugged her again.

“You're so thin,” I said. Her frame was bony under layers of dress and petticoat and corset, while I could feel how strong I'd become since I'd last seen her.

She stiffened and looked at the floor. “Oh, you know me. I've always eaten like a bird.” She looked me up and down. “You look wonderful, so much colour in your cheeks. You must spend a lot of time outdoors.”

It might have been a slight. Only labourers acquire the sun's colour. “Thank you. Yes I do spend a great deal of time outside. It's so lovely here in the summer.”

Aileen glanced around the sod house, her small eyes adjusting to its dim light.

“It's not much,” I heard myself say. “But we lived in a tent at first, as you know. I was so grateful when the neighbours came to build the house.”

She looked about skeptically, as though imagining neighbours who sported two heads and a very unclear vision as to what defined a house.

“This is much better than some places I've seen here on the prairie.” I wanted to bite off my tongue for making excuses. Casey saved me, running in to greet Aileen, throwing himself at her, wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Oh my.” She swayed under his assault. “He's certainly a friendly little thing.” She reached down to pat his head.

It was a surprise to realize that, while I'd been raising Casey and learning to be a mother to both him and Shannon, my sister knew nothing about children. I scooped him up and nuzzled his neck, showing off the ease of our relationship, how he depended on me and trusted I could give him what he needed. I put him down and went to the crib, where Shannon grumbled to herself in tiny, fitful gurgles, her delicate chubby feet waving in the air in front of her. She tried to grab for them and missed, tried again.

“And this,” I picked her up and brought her into the light, “is Shannon.” I wished she'd been dressed in more than a plain white nightdress, wished Aileen could have met her dressed in the frilly pink dress and booties Mrs. Miller had given her. Her hair had filled in so its shiny blonde curls fell around her face like a halo, like the dolls we'd been given for Christmas with solemn warnings not to soil them.

“Oh,” Aileen gasped. She stayed where she was. “She's beautiful.”

I brought the baby to her and placed her in my sister's unpracticed arms, adjusting Aileen's hands and Shannon's head so Aileen could see her clearly.

“Oh Moira,” she gasped again, her eyes shining with tears. She looked from the baby to me and back again as though she didn't quite believe I could have managed anything so perfect. “Moira,” she said again.

We looked at each other and at the baby for a long time, the silence filled with all that had happened in the time we'd spent apart. Dillan and Silas came in, stomping their boots.

“We'll talk later,” I whispered to her.

“Come.” Casey ran to Silas, pulling Aileen along. “Come,” he insisted. Aileen glanced back and I laughed and waved her out the door. “Chickenths.”

The lisp accompanied Casey's every word now. He pointed to the birds as they ran in a fluster away from them. As I watched, Aileen picked her way past tufts of weed, reaching down to brush dust from her boots. “Pigth.” Casey pointed to the mud they wallowed in. I watched him pull my sister around the corner of the house, his monologue keeping time with their progress.

Rushing behind the curtain of my room, I pulled on my one good dress, yellow with tiny red roses around the hem, grabbed a brush and viciously pulled it through my hair, counting the strokes as Aileen and I had done every day of our lives, wondering why it seemed important to do it now. Pulling the unruly mess back into a tight bun, I caught myself in my one tiny mirror, grimacing from the pain of lifting my arm to hold the pins. I tucked in loose tendrils and applied a little powder and lipstick. Turning, I stretched on my toes to see how the dress fell over slightly larger breasts, craned to see myself from behind, wondering if Aileen noticed my expanded hips.

“She's only your sister,” Dillan said from the other side of the room.

I emerged from behind the curtain. “I haven't done anything special.”

He shrugged. “I don't know why you think you need to impress her.” He sat down on the one good upholstered chair we'd managed to buy. I cringed, hoping the back of his pants were free of the dirt and grease he usually brought in on them.

“I don't. It's only that...”
The words wouldn't come because I didn't want them to be true. “She expected things of me, her little sister. I wasn't supposed to end up in a sod shack on the bald prairie.”

Dillan's eyes clouded.

“I mean, it's fine. I know. But she won't understand what we've done here. Not any of it – how hard we've worked, how nearly impossible it can be to make a garden grow, or the crops, just to keep things alive, including ourselves. She has no idea of the impossible things we've done.”

I turned to the window and took a deep breath. Aileen and Silas were making their way back to the house. I shouldn't have said that. Not to Dillan. He didn't need my sister's judgment to point out our meagre existence. I turned back to apologize. He was grinning and shaking his head.

“For a smart woman, you can be an idiot.”

It was my turn to be hurt.

“You haven't learned a fug from all this...” He waved his hand around the room, gestured outside, toward the crib where Shannon gurgled. “Surviving? You think you should worry about some dame with fancy shoes thinking it's not enough?” He threw his hands in the air.

We laughed then, full belly laughs that felt good and true.